Rain
by waiting4tomorrow
Summary: LUNAXRON.One shot.Ron is coming back from practice and sees somthing very unexpected.


Ronald Weasley was outside, and he was wet. This was not surprising, for he was walking back to the castle after Quidditch practice, and it had begun to rain. What started as big drops of water that landed on his forehead and made him blink quickly turned into biting bullets of water that stung his cheeks.

He was in no hurry, though. Practice hadn't gone so well, and he felt like being alone. His body was bent against the cold wind, cutting the grey sky in half, and he sloshed through the mud with no respect for his shoes.

And then suddenly, he heard a girl's voice through the curtain of rain. He stopped, mud squishing beneath his feet. The girl was humming a rather familiar tune. It snagged at his brain and pulled him closer to a figure dancing around awkwardly in the distance.

He found himself in front of Luna Lovegood, who was skipping around in the mud and humming loudly. He stared at her.

Luna's uniform was soaked through and she didn't seem to realize that the white uniform shirt was actually kind of thin or that the grey uniform skirt was actually kind of short. Her skirt was covered in mud and her shoes were completely gone, lost somewhere in the ground. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she kind of hoped they might grow into shoetrees.

She skipped her way right in front of Ron and stopped. For a minute, all he could see was the top of her head, her hair slick, like fluid strands of sunlight. The air didn't seem so cold anymore.

Then, she looked up towards the sky. Her eyes were hidden by her eyelids, and he was presented with a view of her upturned nose. Her innocent lips spread into a smile, two clouds parting to reveal the sun, and she laughed.

A crack of lightening exploded above their heads, followed by a laughing peal of thunder. The thunder sounded as if it was answering Luna, as if they had some secret joke between themselves.

Ron felt left out.

Her face was lined with water droplets, framing her features like melted crystals running down to her neck. She began singing again, indistinct syllables and notes that had no logical progression or rhythm.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she interrupted him.

"Would you like to dance?" she asked. Her voice was soft, but he heard her words with a clarity that made his ears buzz. It was like a knife cutting through the rain, aimed for his heart. It hit its target with precision.

"There's no music."

"We can make our own," she replied, holding her hand out.

He didn't take it. He was noticing that her pale skin was almost translucent, and that he could see her veins. "Luna, don't you think you should go inside? It's cold."

She looked at him curiously, and he felt like a specimen in one of Fred and George's experiments. His stomach was all tingly, and he felt like the world was spinning around them. He blinked.

The curious look was gone and she still held her hand out for him. She didn't say anything, but he had the feeling that her offered hand meant more than any words could ever mean; it meant that she would follow him, if he would lead

So he grabbed her hand and marched purposely towards the blurred castle of Hogwarts. Her hand was as cold as ice; he held it tighter.

She hopped alongside him, still humming under her breath. Every now and then she would stop to stare at something in the distance or a lonely flower sprouting from the ground or, at one time, a bug taking refuge under a large leaf.

Her hand felt even colder than when he first grabbed it. It felt like death, and it scared him.

Finally, the castle was in front of them and he stumbled inside the warm building, Luna trailing behind him, like it was some great accident she would arrive at the same place as him. He knew that there was some type of spell to warm someone up or dry them off, but neither spell came to mind. He was stuck rubbing Luna's hands in his own, much larger, hands. Her skin was still very pale, but he could only see a faint trail of blue across her cheeks and her lips.

"Er . . . ." Now that the thundering background music of the rain was gone, he was aware of a ringing awkward silence that made his hands sweat. He hoped she didn't notice. "Are you going to be . . . er, okay?"

He hoped she said yes. His body was tired, and he was cold. He wanted to sleep.

No words could cross her shivering lips without being shaken beyond recognition, so she simply looked at him with a smile that said yes and thank you.

It was then that their eyes connected, and he took a deep breath because his chest suddenly felt like something very heavy and large had fallen on top of him. Her eyes, like looking glasses, reflected little tiny Rons, but underneath that there was something else: a secret knowledge that was more important than any other knowledge on earth. There was a universe of swirling stars and a love for everything that ever lived and everything that ever will live and everything that was living . . . .

She coughed, and he tore his gaze from her eyes and redirected it towards her mouth.

"Are you getting sick?"

She shook her head, her wet hair slapping against her cheeks, and coughed again. He felt a startling worry for her. Her body was small and frail, and it seemed like each cough shook her whole frame.

"Come on," he said, taking her firmly by the hand, "let's go to the hospital wing."

The hospital wing was empty, save for Madame Pomfrey sitting at her desk, reading a newspaper. She looked up when the door slammed shut behind Ron and Luna, and she rushed over to them.

"What's the problem, my dears?" she asked.

"She's catching a cold," he said, his voice sounding much more worried than he had intended it to sound. He then added, with a very non-worried shrug, "I think."

Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue disapprovingly, noticing Luna's wet and muddy clothes. "Well, bring her over here and I'll give her some Pepper Up Potion. You should probably have a seat too," she said, noticing that Ron's clothes were dripping wet as well.

He sat and drank the spicy liquid she handed him. His clothes were dried with a flick of the nurse's wand, and he began to feel quite awake. He watched as Luna's color quickly came back into her cheeks, and her looking glass eyes sparkled once again with that hidden knowledge.

He wanted to know what she knew, but insecurities prevented him from just blurting that out, and he relied on what he hoped was a friendly smile.

She smiled back at him.

When Madame Pomfrey was satisfied that they were in much better health, she ushered them out of the infirmary. Ron was left standing across from Luna, feeling like a shy first-year. He felt like he was on a date and that she expected him to kiss her or something. He didn't know why he felt this, for their encounter had been the farthest thing from a date.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said.

"Er . . . right," he replied, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking everywhere but at her eyes. They made him feel queasy.

She stood up on the tips of her toes, and Ron thought: She's going to kiss me.

And she did kiss him, but not on his lips like he had been expecting.

No, Luna kissed him on his nose.

And then she planted her feet on the ground and looked at him. He frowned, wondering why he felt so disappointed.

"I like your nose," she said. "It's nice."

Not sure how to respond, he made a strangled sound that could have been a "thank you," or it could have been a "I like your nose too," or possibly even a "I have to go study for a Transfiguration test I have tomorrow."

Luna didn't seem to mind his lack of conversational skills. She smiled serenely and walked away, her hair bouncing against her back, humming that same tune under her breath. Only this time, Ron could hear her huming echo clearly against the walls.


End file.
